The crashing pop of livestock whips,
Start the journey home,
Through winds that roar resistance,
As the wheels of wagons moan.
I awake in a noisy station,
To shrill whistles of trains,
And the clattering bustle of people,
In bellows of white-hot steam.
My dream turns to windows,
Seeing views of clouds below,
As the flight nears my journey’s end,
In a somewhere I’ve never known.
Ronald Whetsell's Creative Writing and Poetry Blog 